


Week Before Witch

by DevilOfWire



Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [26]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Kyle Broflovski, Cock Tease, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Feminization, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Stripping, Top Stan Marsh, Wet & Messy, striptease, tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire
Summary: 26. Stripping |Scat | BurnplayA sexy witch costume. Ugh, the second Kyle sees it online, he thinks it’s just so cliché and stupid…Just enough to work on a simpleton like Stan.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950421
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Week Before Witch

**Author's Note:**

> **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Just a little PWP follow-up to my damn 100k wc slowburn! Hope it’s a suitable Halloween-themed sequel for all the people who managed to read the whole thing lol! ^^

“Abracadbra!”

A wand is thrust against Stan’s chest the second he opens the bedroom door, but unfortunately, magic isn’t real, so he remains perfectly human.

It  _ does _ work, however, in making him go completely still.

Only able to gawk with his mouth open as he watches the mundane jacket slowly fall from Kyle’s slender shoulders, crumpling to the floor, forgotten behind him.

Revealing the spectacle that is the completely stereotypical, slutty version of a witch’s costume: low-necklined, short-skirted, pointy hat, gloves and boots up to the elbows and knees. All the same shade of cerulean black.

That standing and starting, that’s what Kyle wanted, of course. Scrolling through hundreds of uninspired outfits and lame pictures, just to pick the first one he landed on. Typical.

Thankfully, it had arrived just right on time, Monday night of the week of Halloween—well, technically, clock past 12, it was now Tuesday, but whatever—all relatively fitting and ready to go for the costume party that some guys who somehow vaguely knew Kyle well enough to apparently invite him were throwing. Plus one.

Stan was his plus one, of course. It would be the first time he would be out in public with him, comfortable enough to admit and act like the dating couple that they secretly were. Other than back home, of course. But hey, it might have been almost a year, but it was hard, okay?

Speaking of hard, it seems that it’s hard for Stan to even pretend to be aware. For even when a hand is waved right in front of his face, he still doesn’t so much as blink.

Kyle laughs at him a little, and that finally seems to get his attention.

“S-sorry,” Stan chuckles more than a little anxiously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you say something?”

“Just a spell. I think it worked, actually.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Kyle hums, taking a step forward on black witchy boots going almost up to the knee, tall high heels aligning his hips forward as well as his chest—left mostly bare in the low, black web design upon it—legs up and back, to arch his spine and round out his ass hidden beneath a short, artificially frayed skirt.

It’s no wonder why Stan already loses concentration, even as long nails painted black slide from down his shoulders as soon as Kyle had grabbed them.

He only comes to when there’s a firm grip on the bulge in his pants.

“Kyle!” he shouts, hands snapping down, although he’s immediately unsure why.

Because Kyle only snickers, fingers going delicate and soft on him. Giggling in that more mischievous way that he does sometimes, not just a cunning scheme or a joke at another’s expense, but darker.

Lustier.

“I made you hard, with my  _ magic, _ didn’t I?” his childhood friend says quiet and low, whispered against his ear as his fingers play along the proof in his regular old jeans.

Stan gulps. “Y-yeah,” he can only stammer.

Kyle purses his lips, face hidden from sight as he cranes around to Stan’s back in a tight embrace. Usually he preferred more “intellectually-stimulating” conversation than this, but he supposes this was all his doing, anyway.

The little spell that he has his dear, adorable little boyfriend under.

It makes him go all dumb and absent-minded again, as his eyes are the only thing that move in his entire body, slowly drawing up and over every curve, every angle, every peek of skin against the black curtain of the witch’s dress that fit him impossibly well.

Watching as he expertly pulls out of the dark backdrop that was the long-sleeved, open-fronted cloak like a magician. It was more like a cape, really, in the way that it nearly touches the floor. Slipping, slipping, every fraction off his skin watched by wide-open eyes, until it crashes to the ground completely, leaving him in the short, exposing dress only.

“Do you like it?” he asks, rolling the pale of his shoulders now that they were free and delightfully bare.

“Like... it?”

“Oh my G-” Kyle rolls his eyes, pulling back enough to meet his eyes. “The dress, you dummy! It’s my Halloween costume, y’know, for the costume party in under a week?”

“Oh...” Stan nods, slowly. “That... right, I remember.”

Kyle just shakes his head. “Whatever!” he throws his hands up, breaking into a smile as he falls back on the bed, the wooden stick of a wand tossed somewhere behind him in the movement. “You can go out and buy a cheap doctor’s costume for five bucks or whatever, and I’ll be over here, fifty in the hole, for an actual semi-well manufactured outfit.” He sighs at the unfairness of it all.

“Hey,” Stan shoots back, finally shutting the door behind him as he takes a few steps forward with a growing shadow of a grin, “you know I’d just waste the other forty-five bucks on something even dumber.”

Kyle looks up to him, lying back on the bed with thighs lazily spread open, as Stan towers directly between his legs. “Yeah,” he mutters, “you’re totally right, dude.”

And then they both watch, as he moves his hands down to undo the laces on one boot. So many damn laces, and his fingers so meticulous and flashy in their movements, Stan groans from agitation and sexual need both.

It does speed Kyle up a little, sliding the knee-high boot off his stocking’d leg to let it hit the ground, wiggling his foot free in the air.

But then he does the other. It takes him almost a minute, a  _ minute, _ to take off a damn boot! If Stan didn’t know better, he’d think he was doing this on purpose, or something!

But once the other boot thunks to the ground, and Kyle leans back more comfortable than ever on their lovely, warm bed, all is right once again.

“So, uh,” Stan starts, not even trying to hide the obvious, throbbing erection in his jeans, given the pointless angle and all with the other directly beneath him, looking so damn enticing in the slutty excuse for a witch’s costume he just couldn’t help himself but continue, “can I... fuck you in it?”

“Stan!” Kyle bursts out with laughter. “Oh, oh, okay, that was  _ hilarious, _ but sure. Just, uh, don’t get any stains on it. You have to wash it by hand or else it gets completely destroyed, and I don’t wanna deal with that.”

And with that, Kyle turns himself over on the bed, still laying completely flat, but now with his backside exposed rather than the front.

It’s a different view, for sure, but not necessarily a worse one. Just different.

Ass instead of tits and his own jutting boner. An acceptable trade.

But as pale, lightly freckled hands are careful to push his skirt from the very, ratty end all, all the way up, every frill, thrill, piece of black lace shoved in a pile onto the thin of his slightly corseted waist, something else is revealed.

Not just more of his pale legs, sticking out of the dark thigh highs. Although that was certainly nice.

Nor just his ass—as wonderful and deliciously round as it is—or the lacy panties complementing them so damn well, although also something that Stan has almost come to expect, becoming more shocked at the sight of briefs or boxers on Kyle when it came to promised “surprises”.

But as his fingers tickle, teasingly until Stan groans for him to move on, earning a giggle and a push of the panties to the side—not even bothering to pull them down, he’s already so hard and hot and wanting—the real thing shows.

His hole, blushing and soft as ever. But also coated in mostly-clear, somewhat-thick liquid.

Lube.

He’s already lubed himself up for him, removing one of the more tedious steps of this (w)hole process.

And, green eyes staring back over the peak of his shoulder, lids heavy with lust and dark with one-minute eye shadow—two of his own fingers dive straight into himself.

And as if that wasn’t fucking hot enough Stan nearly cums in his pants just at the mere sight of it, the fact that Kyle doesn’t so much as whimper, shows no signs of pain or discomfort, reveals another thing.

“You’re, fuck, already all stretched?” Stan groans, unable to stop himself from grasping at his package, just needing to take a fraction of the growing edge off.

“Y-yeah,” Kyle moans, face pressed sideways against the cover so his high voice is muffled somewhat. One hand reaches up to strangle the covers, along with the writhing of his legs and curving of his spine, showing his sheer pleasure as he slips a third finger inside of himself, proving it to the man behind him.

Drooling at the thought of his cock still trapped in his jeans, already so turned on from fingering himself before he’d got home from his part-time job, all dolled up in this slutty little awful costume as he could think about nothing but how great it would feel to be fucked the second he gets home.

And, as it almost always goes, Kyle gets exactly what he wants.

He hears the unzip of his jeans, whining in agonizing desire at the mere  _ noise, _ let alone the thought of it actually fucking fully inside of him.

He pops his fingers from his hole, and still wet with lube, reaches down with both hands to spread his ass perfectly wide.

“F-fuck me, Stan, oh, G-God, fuck,” he moans, manicured nails to either side of his glistening, gaping cunt. Just begging to receive what he obviously needed so badly.

“Oh,” Stan growls, taking on that lovely, dark persona that Kyle loved so much, “I’ll fuck you with my cock until you’re  _ begging _ for me to stop.”

“O-oh, fuck!” Kyle shouts, remembering to push his face into the pillow at the last second. To appease their neighbours in this shitty apartment complex, but that was the very last thing on his mind, now.

Because now, his world is exploding in white behind the dark curtain of his eyelids closed in pure pleasure, pain, sensations beyond and indescribable. Just filled absolutely full with cock, the one cock in the world that he loved, needed, more than air itself, at that moment.

And it seemed all that teasing—torturous to Kyle just as much as it was to Stan, honestly—worked.

Because now, he fucks him like he hardly ever can, anymore. Oh, he can, but usually they like to screw around more, have fun with it, the immediacy and desperation of new lovers long since gone over the past many months.

But now, it was back. In full force.

Kyle must admit—the ache that already begins in his body curved like a bow, crushed by weight of pure muscle and strength, tears stinging his eyes as he’s forced to listen to the sounds of his own moans, ass slapping against sweaty hips—he doesn’t miss this part.

But he  _ does _ miss the toe-curling, full-body shaking pleasure that builds so quickly from being fucked like Stan was nothing more than an animal. An animal only desperate to thrust its cock angry from being subjected to entire minutes wasted on simple clothing removal, into the tight, warm hole that took it so well.

God, yes, he’d fucking missed this.

“S-Stan,” he tries to gasp, to form words, thoughts, anything, but it’s so damn hard, voice shaken with pure fucking thrusts nearly beyond recognition, “f-fuck, fuck me, oh, I-I-I’m gonna cum a-already...”

He bites his lip, trying to stave off that exact feeling.

But it was so damn hard, as his pleasure mounted between his legs, in his lower abdomen, stomach going taut without his brain even telling it.

And for all that little excuse for a strip tease he’d done back there, Kyle cums pathetically quickly, himself.

He cries out loud as he does, obvious also in the way he wriggles under Stan’s arms pinning him down, ass squeezing around his cock as though to milk him dry.

But Stan doesn’t stop.

Kyle’s grown used to this. The unwillingness to pause enough for him to recoup, for him to even stop ejaculating and be able to think again.

But he must admit, as much as he whines and pleads for him to stop—brain overwhelmed with the pleasure turned to misery while his own cock went limp in his panties—he also fucking loves it.

Loves the way he doesn’t take it easy on him at all, how he knows without asking at this point that Kyle much preferred it this way. Because he was a slut, wanting nothing more than cock, getting off on his own subjected torture.

And, besides, as hands push all the way past the mound of black skirting to get into his panties—teasing around his slender prick until it hardened, and then moving right past it and its amusing little load stuck in women’s underwear—tickling against the inner curve of his waist beneath his dress to clench his nipples, lighting his world right up in blinding pleasure once more with a keen, he knows the second orgasm isn’t far off.

Stan’s mouth lowers to his ear, biting horrible, deep insults directly into his open mind. Things like slut, whore, pathetic, adorable, etc. Nothing really all that bad, but it still makes him cry in the delirious state his brain was in at this point.

Then that mouth moves to his neck, and starts sucking hickies into it. Ones that will surely be joined by many more in the coming week—perhaps with some further play with this exact costume, who knows.

Meaning that then, at the costume party, not only will Kyle be fully confirmed as in a relationship with another man for all his valued peers and accomplices to see-

But he’ll have plenty of dark, purple hickies slathered across his throat and collar bone to show  _ just _ how much he really loved him.

How fucking embarrassing that would be, how much he would blush, stammer, try to hide it with make up or a necklace only to find that Stan’s making way too many to ever hope to fully conceal-

How fucking arousing, knowing that he’d be jacking off to the thought of his classmates’ surprise that those hickies were never from a girl, but were from his very best friend, who he’d been vying for for entire years before.

And at knowing that Stan would fuck him in a week’s time, repeating the insults he is now, but with a twist of exhibitionism on it, combined with the hot breath on his neck, the thrusts growing shorter, faster-

Kyle cums at the same time Stan does.

Even if Kyle technically came a second time, it’s still always nice to be in sync like that.

And then they both fall to either side of the bed, catching their breaths as the deafening bliss of climax still races through their minds, only to escape like the coy little fairy that it is.

Kyle can feel his ass leaking with cum, down his taint and balls to soak into the bundled-up panties no longer with a cock to force them away. Always such a nice feeling. Like its own form of after care, after such intense, mind-blowing sex.

Then he scrambles to stand.

It surprises Stan—who was just going to go for a nap—enough to sit up himself, only for Kyle to return after a brief, cute twirl in the mirror, crashing back down on him and getting his clothes he still had on dirty with his own semen.

But before Stan can air his complaints, Kyle’s voice comes, high and content, “Good job, Stan!”

“Wh-what’d I do?”

Kyle snickers, pressing him down all the way, but remaining sitting cowgirl style, until he can bundle up his skirts and set them down on a dry spot above his groin.

“Forget already? It’s okay, I don’t blame you, buddy.” He grins, smiling up at Stan as he finishes, “You didn’t get any cum on my outfit! I mean, it’s probably loaded with sweat and all that, but at least it’s not visible or smell-able! You know what that means?”

“That you can wear it at the costume party?”

“Well, yeah. That would be the safe answer.”

He then cuddles up next to him, closing his eyes against the warmth of the other’s cheek.

“But I’m gonna take the risk, and say we can do this again. And we’ll hopefully not ruin it that time.”

“Right...” Stan slowly nods, his eyes drifting shut. “Later, though.”

“Of course, Stan,” Kyle mutters into his neck, breathing slowing as the warmth and affection of the other seeps into his very bones like no glass of warm milk ever could.

“We have an entire week, after all...”

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
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> * * *
> 
> Thanks for reading! I really hope that was satisfying, idk, I wish I could’ve done more on the striptease thing but I’m just kinda bad at setting stuff up like that lol. Tyvm still, though, as always! :D


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